#winged reader

Mel Medarda had a big role to fill. After the battle was won, not only was Piltover left to be rebuilt, but Noxus had also lost its leader. Queens had fallen, and Mel was the princess next in line. With her new abilities, she had a loyal army to guide and an entire country to reign over.

Piltover was no longer her home — perhaps it never truly had been.

It didn’t take long for her to leave the continent. Jayce was gone, Caitlyn had formed a new Council, and, despite all the bloodshed, the top side and bottom side were finally united as one. Mel no longer had a purpose there; she wasn’t Piltover’s leader. Now, she had inherited her name like never before, ready to replace her mother.

However, there were more secrets than she could have imagined—not only about her birth and father but also the hidden, dirty truths lurking in every corner of Noxus. The colonies, the wars, the cruelties committed by her mother—each new revelation showed Mel how little of the truth she truly knew.

While investigating one of her mother’s secrets, she found you—imprisoned, trapped in a cage like an animal, brutally tied up. You could barely move inside the dark, metal cell. "War prisoners," Mel had been told. Ambessa had killed some of her enemies' leaders, but others she had kept here—for information, leverage, and interrogation. Even though your war was long over, you remained in this dark, cold prison.

Mel didn’t know how long you had been there, but one thing stood out: while the other prisoners were fed and minimally cared for—still caged, of course—you were different. You were cuffed, beaten, and chained far more cruelly than the rest. You were repressed, scared, and treated as if you were more dangerous. That’s why Mel decided to free you herself.

The moment you heard someone approaching, you began to fight. You couldn’t move much—your hands, feet, and chest were bound—but you wouldn’t surrender. You hadn’t before, and you wouldn’t now. You screamed at the silhouette nearing your cell, guttural groans escaping your muzzle. You felt less than human—a cornered prey fighting for its life.

— I came to free you, — a deep, soft voice reached your ears. — Do not fight. Our war is over.

Two guards grabbed your chains and released your feet. You jumped immediately, ignoring the pain, in a desperate attempt to fly. The chains around your chest had smashed your wings for nights beyond counting, and the agony was unbearable.

When they removed the muzzle from your face, you screamed at the shadow by the cell door:

— Our war is not over! It will never be!

The guards recoiled at your outburst, preparing to silence you again.

— That’s why you killed my people. All of them! But I won’t stop fighting!

— Mrs. Medarda, we should— — one of the guards began, stepping toward you with a chain in hand.

— No! — Mel’s voice was firm and commanding. — I’m tired of this senseless violence. Let them go.

You continued to fight, ignoring her words—empty words, you thought. You’d been fooled before, when you believed Ambessa’s promise of peace between your nations. You wouldn’t be fooled twice.

As soon as you were fully unbound, your wings spread abruptly, pushing the Noxian guards back. You screamed with pain and rage, leaping toward the shadow at the entrance—the Medarda woman who had freed you.

— I won’t be fooled again! — you shouted, raising your fists to strike her. But before you could land a blow, a golden energy enveloped her like a shield, stopping you in your tracks.

Blinded by fury, you lunged again, only for the guards to seize your wings and pull you back. Feathers tore, and your fragile bones stretched painfully under the strain.

— Stop! Let them go! — Mel’s voice rang louder than your screams. — I am not my mother! They won’t be hurt anymore!

The guards obeyed, releasing you. You fell to your knees before her—the new wolf of Noxus.

— Many mistakes have been made, — Mel said softly, stepping closer, now within reach of your wings. You could attack her if you wished, but you had no strength left. — I’m here to fix them.

You looked up at her, her hand hovering gracefully in front of you. Perhaps it was the pain. Perhaps it was another fevered dream. No Medarda would offer you their hand—it couldn’t be real.

Everything went dark.

You passed out.

Your body had been overwhelmed, or so you’d been told. You were too weak to move, let alone fly. The doctor had said you shouldn’t use your wings until you were strong enough to stand unaided. For now, you needed to rest.

When you first opened your eyes, the brightness of the room blinded you. After so much time in the dark, even this gentle light felt unbearable. The doctor’s voice reached you faintly as he spoke, but you paid little attention, instead focusing on your surroundings.

The room was large, elegant—too grand for someone like you. A palace, you guessed, judging by the ornate paintings and intricate furnishings. Outside the door, you could hear the steady march of guards, their voices low and firm as they gave commands. This wasn’t the darkness of your cell, but it wasn’t freedom either.

The doctor mentioned medicine before disappearing, leaving you alone. That was your chance.

You pushed yourself to your feet despite the pain, every movement a reminder of how broken you were. Your wings trembled behind you, fragile and aching, but you refused to stay. You’d been caged for too long.

A large window on the far side of the room caught your attention. It framed the city’s skyline—a sprawling capital of stone and steel, alive with motion. But it wasn’t the view that drew you. It was the sunlight.

You froze in place, paralyzed by the warmth. You hadn’t seen the sun in years, hadn’t felt its light on your skin since Ambessa’s betrayal.

Closing your eyes, you let the heat wash over you. Even through your closed lids, the orange glow of daylight filled your vision, and for the first time in so long, you smiled. The movement hurt—your face unused to such gestures—but you smiled anyway.

— I see you recover quickly. — The voice startled you. Deep, calm, and familiar.

You turned sharply, your wings flaring in a defensive posture, ready to fight.

Mel stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

— I only came to— she paused, her gaze shifting upward, catching on your wings. Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, she froze. — I didn’t realize how badly you’d been hurt.

— What do you want? — you growled, stepping forward. Your wings shifted with you, their tattered state doing little to hide your intent.

Mel didn’t flinch. Her gaze returned to your face.

— I’m Mel Medarda. The new wolf of Noxus.

You studied her, your eyes narrowing. Her clothing was regal, refined—nothing like the armor of a warrior.

— You’re a witch, — you spat, your voice laced with venom.

— And what about you? — she asked, taking a slow step closer. — What... are you?

You hesitated, your glare hardening.

— I see the wolf has done her work well, erasing us from history.

— Us?

— Karyndor. My people. You exterminated us.

Mel frowned, her voice quieter this time.

— I’ve never heard of you. My mother never—

— She never told you how she enslaved and slaughtered my people? — you shouted, your voice trembling with rage. — How is that a surprise, princess?

— It’s not. — Her response was firm, catching you off guard. — I’m not here to be attacked. I’m here to gather the truth. I can only help you if you let me.

You snorted, disbelief twisting your features.

— I’ve heard this before.

Mel’s expression didn’t waver.

— Where do your people live? Why did your war with Noxus begin?

— It’s impossible, princess. Our land no longer exists. Your mother made sure of it.

— Why?

— Because we never gave up our freedom, — you said bitterly. Your wings shivered behind you, as though echoing your words. — We never let them cut our wings, one might say. Noxus couldn’t accept that.

Silence filled the room. Mel’s gaze dropped to the floor, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

— Will you kill me too? — you asked, your voice softer now, almost a plea.

Her eyes lifted to meet yours.

— I am the only one left, — you continued. — You should finish your mother’s work.

— I wonder why she didn’t do it herself, — Mel murmured under her breath.

Her words unsettled you, though you weren’t sure why.

— Why would she keep you alive? — she asked, more to herself than to you.

You clenched your fists, your voice breaking as memories surfaced.

— I was her trophy. The Karyndorian general, tamed and defenseless. She kept me in that cell, showed me off to soldiers. Sometimes... sometimes she would even... — You couldn’t finish. The scars on your body spoke for you.

— Will you kill me, princess? — you whispered. — It would be a mercy I never had.

Mel’s gaze softened.

— What’s your name?

You hesitated before answering.

— Y/N.

— I will not kill you, Y/N. You are free.

And with that, she turned and left.

The truth was, you didn’t know what to do. Dying felt easier than living; it was the end you had hoped for. Without your people, without your army, you were no one. All you had left were scars, weak wings, and your enemy’s palace to wander around. Among all the wolf’s surprises, this might be the greatest: her words meant something. She had changed Noxus — the guards and the servants looked at you, even spoke to you occasionally. While you recovered, the doctor visited you daily, and the staff brought you anything you requested. You even decided to test this by asking for wine. Deep down, you hoped it would be poisoned, but it tasted excellent.

From time to time, you could hear Mel’s footsteps echoing through the hallways. Always moving, always working — that woman never stopped.

She didn’t visit you again. Perhaps she hadn’t expected you to stay at her palace for so long. Honestly, neither had you. You could have flown away, but you never did. You were fascinated by her actions: you had seen prisoners walking around the palace as freely as you did, seen slaves being set free. You had seen families reunited after years, seen mercy — all because of her.

It seemed... impossible. Almost foolish. No enemy of Noxus would ever be as merciful as she was.

— May I speak to her? — you asked one of the staff as they brought your breakfast. They were startled at first but quickly nodded and left. A few minutes later, you were brought to her.

— Thank you, — you said as the servant announced your arrival, studying the immense hall you had walked into. It was vast, with maps, tables, and chairs scattered about. A meeting room for her councils, you supposed, but she stood there alone.

— Mrs. Medarda, — you greeted her. — I must say, you surprise me.

— Y/N, — her gaze locked onto yours. — I suppose I could say the same. I’m honored to see you again.

You smiled at her words. Always charming, a true politician.

— I’ve never seen a wolf with a heart, princess. — You carefully approached the table she stood beside. — You’re either that or a fox. This nation is full of them.

— I intend to change the nation you hate so much, general. Feel free to see it for yourself, if you must.

— I’m afraid I will. — You moved closer, your wings folding tightly against your back, unable to relax as her scent reached you. You glanced down at the papers she was studying — details about battles, casualties, and old enemies.

— This empire has been built on blood, — she said, and only then did you notice how her eyes traced your scars. — Too much blood. I want to rebuild it, to create a kingdom founded on choice and alliances.

— Alliances are volatile, princess. They shift with the wind; they can always turn against you.

— I prefer politeness over rigidity. I believe safety can exist without cruelty.

— I agree with you. I would rather make peace than war. — You saw the spark in her eyes as you spoke, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. — Because of that, we sought an alliance with monsters. It got my people killed.

— It shouldn’t have, — she argued firmly, her eyes locked on yours.

— I know, I know... — you whispered, looking down at the papers again. So much death reduced to mere numbers. — Just don’t mistake mercy for naivety. — With a broken voice, your wings shrank as you confessed: — That was my mistake.

You stepped away from Mel, uncertain where you were headed. A general without an army, a soldier without a cause to fight for.

— Perhaps you could help me avoid that... — her soft proposal froze you in place. — I need generals, not murderers, to train my army.

— Princess, I’ve lost everything. I failed as a soldier, I failed to protect my people. How could you trust me with your nation?

— I don’t, — she admitted, her gaze unwavering in the face of your doubts. — But I’m willing to give you a chance, if you’re willing to take it. It’s the least I can do after what my mother did to you.

You widened your eyes — once again, this was a constant effect she had on you.

You accepted.

Trust was a difficult thing for you at first. After everything you had been through, reservations and even cynicism were normal for people in your positions. There were traitors and rebels in every corner, appearing with every debt forgiven and battle ended by the princess. Empress: you remembered this title more and more every day. Until you had fully recovered, you decided to get to know the nation you had so wished to destroy. The target of your revenge was still undoubtedly a people: there were children playing in the streets and a prosperous future ahead. Untouched by the war, the civilians didn't even seem to know about their leader's atrocities. Perhaps if they did, you wouldn't be treated so cordially.

Over time, you let the children touch your scarred wings. It took a while before you had the courage to show them around town, you feared that they were still a target, but you were only targeted by curious children. Some parents were terrified when you started flying them around in your arms, but their laughter relieved any tension.

You missed it: a home, a people. It was strange that they were becoming that for you. It felt like betrayal, despite the kindness they had shown you. It felt like betrayal against the nation that raised you.

The guilt increased when you returned to your room in the palace, and lasted until the next morning when you met up with Mel. It was easy to hide at first, but the new wolf had an eye for detail. She noticed the improvement in your wings and the worsening of your eyes even with all your attempts to hide them.

--- I've heard good stories about you, general. You've already conquered the Noxus youth. --- she said casually.

--- I've played with children, empress, nothing more than that. They are the only innocents in our history.

--- They represent the future I intend to build… It's good that they trust you.

You frowned at Mel, uneasy about the next words that would come out of her mouth.

--- A legion of young people have enlisted. They're excited about Noxus' new beginning.

You flinched as her words aimed at you, your wings beginning to flutter with anticipation.

--- I want you to train them. --- Medarda stated.

The days that followed felt like walking through a battlefield, only this time the enemy was within you. Every step you took, every command you gave, was a reminder of the life you lost and the people who depended on you—and whom you failed.

Mel had given you a position, a purpose, but it felt more like a cruel jest than an honor. Training soldiers in the palace courtyard, watching them grow stronger, reminded you of the Karyndorian army you once led. Your soldiers had been fierce and proud, willing to follow you to the ends of the earth. These recruits, however, were hesitant, cautious, and unsure whether to trust their new general.

But Mel’s vision was different from her mother’s brutality. She wanted warriors, not butchers, and that meant you had to teach them discipline, not cruelty. You barked orders with the same conviction you once had, though your voice carried an edge of bitterness that was impossible to mask.

The recruits respected you, but they also feared you—your scars, your wings, your haunted eyes. And you couldn’t blame them. You feared yourself too.

Mel, as always, remained a constant presence. She watched from the balconies, observing your methods and the progress of her troops. From time to time, she would approach you after a session, offering quiet feedback or asking questions about tactics and strategy.

— You’re improving them, — she said one afternoon as you stood together overlooking the courtyard.

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze fixed on the recruits sparring below.

— They’re young, — you muttered. — Too young for what they’ll face.

— I don’t want them to fight unless they have to, — Mel replied, her voice calm but firm.

You glanced at her, your expression skeptical.

--- You surprise me, empress. You're too good, despite it all.

She looked at you with suspicion.

--- I see you've heard stories about me too.

--- The kids talk a lot. --- You tried to soften her expression with a smile. --- I'm sorry for what your mother did to you and your brother.

Her gaze lingered on you for a long time: her eyes analyzed you cautiously, looking for something hidden in your gaze. But there was nothing hidden: you meant every word. You were sorry for her.

--- I appreciate it. --- she said at last. --- For all of it, in fact. You acted beyond all my expectations.

You laughed, relaxed, leaning over the counter while the soldiers below remained training. You could hear them shouting, celebrating and laughing.

--- I assume they weren't very high.

--- No. --- her soft tone made you turn to her. She smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth in her otherwise composed demeanor. --- Nevertheless, here you are. I can't help but wonder what made you stay. --- Her gaze wandered for a few moments, analyzing your wings behind the iron armor that covered your chest. --- You could fly to any destination, you could fight for any country. What could have made you choose the very nation that took everything away from you?

You felt your wings stir as your chest quivered. The answer came so quickly to your mind, and left your lips just as readily:

--- You did. --- you whispered in a low voice. --- I believe in you, Mrs. Medarda.

Her eyes lit up at your words, and your wings began to flutter as the rushing blood warmed your body. Sometimes it was hard for you to stay like that, so close, so focused on her. Your eyes began to analyze every detail of her face, your mind was taken by her elegant grace, you were bewitched by her: by her compassion, by her strength, by her power.

Like the breaking of a spell, you forced yourself to look away and swallow the heat that rose to your neck. You were at your limit, one second away from losing control, and so you pulled away. The last thing you wanted was to disrespect her - she was your emperor, you were her suitor. You were satisfied with that, it was enough after so many years suffering alone. With her by your side, you felt strength, warmth --- something close to hope, something close to purpose.

However, the empress pulled you close, holding your arm covered in scars and stopping you from leaving. She stared at them for a moment, her gaze hesitating before rising to your face.

She said nothing. Her hands moved slowly, cautiously and carefully, like everything Mel did.

--- I won't break, Empress. --- you whispered, the warmth now covering your face and making you smile as you felt her touch on your chest.

--- Your empress...--- Her whisper sounded like a question, yet there was a glint of doubt in her avoidant gaze. Her eyes didn't stop on yours until you said it:

--- My empress.

Loki was in awe of you. He hated most people, obviously. Mainly the Avengers even though he lived with them now. But he found himself being interested with you. An experiment that should look like Frankenstein's monster but instead looked like an angel. A perfect mix between a bird and a beautiful human. He often stared at your wings, you definitely noticed him gawking. But he couldn't help it. Your wings were black with a blueish purple glaze when the sun hit them. He imagined adorning them with the finest Asgardian gold.

'Loki! You with me?' Loki shook his head and snapped himself out of his thoughts.

'Apologies, my dear. I get rather distracted by the beauty of your wings,' he said. You rolled your eyes and sighed.

'Yeah, yeah I know. You're obsessed. Hence why I need your help with something since everyone else is busy,' you said. He noticed you had been more irritable lately, especially right in this moment.

'A favour from me, darling? Well, I'm very intrigued,' he said. He stood up and stood in front of you with a smug look on his face.

'My wings need to be preened,' you grumbled. You looked away, a slight tinge of pink on your cheeks.

'And how do I help with that?' he asked. You hated that smug look on his face.

'Well, I can't completly reach back to do all of it. I've preened what I can reach but I need you to do the rest,' you said. Your cheek were redder now as Loki smirked and tilted your chin up to look at him.

'You have to ask nicely, my daring.' You groaned and rolled your eyes.

'Fine. Please, can you help me preen my wings?'

'That's a good girl, of course I can,' he said. You rolled your eyes again before pulling him to the couch. 'Just sit down, I'll drap my wings over you,' you directed. He nodded and sat down before you sat with your back to him. Your wings draped over his lap. 'You can run your hands through the feather at the base. Very gently, because they're sensitive. Gently run your fingers through and some feathers will gently dislodge.' You explained it as well as you could as Loki nodded. He ran his hand over your wing.

'They're so beautiful,' he whispered. You felt your cheeks heat up even more.

'Preening feels...good. So if I make noises like someone getting a really good massage, don't judge me,' you said. He chuckled softly and started to dig his fingers through the feathers.

'I promise I will not judge you for any noises you make,' he said. You closed your eyes and sighed in relief as his fingers combed through the feathers. 'Just relax, Y/N.' You felt a few feathers fall lose as you sighed and relaxed further. Loki smiled softly, he loved seeing how at ease you were and the fact that he was the reason for it. 'You're so beautiful,' he whispered. You opened your eyes and glanced back, your cheeks flushed.

'Do you actually mean that?' you muttered. He gave you a charming smile and continued to preen your wings.

'Of course I do. If you were on Asgard we would worship you as a goddess,' he said. You turned around again and kept your head down. Your cheeks surely looking like a tomato now.

'Just...keep preening,' you mumbled. Loki chuckled softly as he continued working on your wings.

'You're cute when you get all flustered. Even your wings and feathers tense up,' he commented. You chuckled and shook your head.

'Oh, you preen my wing since and suddenly you're the wing genius?' you teased. He laughed softly, his hands still gently working through your feathers.

'I never claimed such a title.' He touched a sensitive part of your wing as you tense up. 'Sorry, my dear. Did I hurt you?'

'No, no it's just that the feathers are really sensitive at the base,' you explained. He nodded a little and continued with his gently movements. Enjoying the way the feathers gently dislodged themselves when they were ready. You fell into a comfortable silence, your eyes closed and your body relaxed as Loki worked on your wings. You enjoyed the moment. It was tender and preening was an intimate experience. It felt nice to trust someone else for once. You appreciated Steve always helping you but it was nice to have someone different for a change. Especially someone you saw in a more romantic light rather than Steve who was like a fatherly figure to you. You leant back more, falling into a pleasured daze. Loki smiled and looked at you.

'Good girl, you're doing well,' he whispered. You blushed more, your body relaxing against Loki as he chuckled softly. 'Have a thing for praise, darling?'

'No, shut up,' you grumbled. He chuckled and finished the preening, the floor covered in feathers. You sighed in relief and turned back around, stretching your wings out.

'Thank you, that feels amazing now,' you said. He smiled and looked at you.

'Well, you seem much more relaxed now, my dear,' he said. He reached down and held one of the feathers in his hand. 'Would you mind if I kept this?' he asked. You blushed a little and nodded.

'Uh, yeah. Yeah you can keep as many as you'd like.' Loki smiled and ran his fingers over the feather.

'Thank you, dear. I'm truly fascinated by you,' he said. You looked away again hiding your embarrassment. 'Promise me I'll be the one to help you with this issue from now on,' he said. His voice serious as you glanced at him again.

'I promise I'll let you do it in the future,' you replied. Loki smirked and tilted your chin up to look at him.

You padded in silently behind him, your feathers rustling softly like wind through parchment. The sound broke the symphony of scribbles and thought.

“Again?” you asked softly, voice laced with amusement. “You said you’d rest tonight.”

He didn’t glance back. “I say many things. Only a few are worth committing to memory.”

You hummed and stepped forward until your shadow joined his. The moment your wings began to unfurl, Ratio’s pen stilled. You wrapped them around him—silken, warm, slightly shimmering under starlight—enclosing him in a gentle cocoon of feathers.

He stiffened at first, always so precise, always so composed, but the edges of his poise softened under your touch.

“I’ll forget this formula,” he murmured, but didn’t move to escape.

“You won’t,” you whispered. “You never forget anything. But you do ignore things worth remembering.”

Your fingers brushed his shoulder, and he sighed—not irritated, but almost... humbled. “A shame," he said dryly. "A brilliant intellect, undone by down feathers."

You giggled and leaned close, resting your chin on his shoulder from behind. “Even the greatest minds need warmth, Veritas.”

He turned his head slightly, enough for his eyes to meet yours. “Perhaps. But not all warmth is irrational.”

There was something reverent in the way he leaned back into your wings. The alabaster sculpture that often hid his face rested untouched on the desk. For now, there was no need for masks. Only the brush of feathers, the hush of thoughts, and a genius who—just this once—allowed himself to be wrapped in something far less logical, and far more human.

The lab smelled faintly of incense, ink, and ozone—the remnants of a recent experiment Anaxa had abandoned when he heard your wings.

You always approached with the breeze; even when silent, your presence filled the room like spring sunlight on ruined marble.

He looked up from a scroll of cursed diagrams, his eyes flashing under lamplight. “Back already? I thought the sky was calling to you.”

You stepped in, smiling as your wings folded slightly inward. “It was. But it’s warmer here.”

He quirked a brow, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “With me? That’s a curious notion. Most would say I burn too close to madness for comfort.”

You laughed, already making your way to him. “You burn, yes. But you also glow. And I like the fire.”

He tried to hide his expression, but his shoulders slackened. You reached out, wrapping your wings around him with all the grace of twilight mist. He didn’t resist—he never did when it was you.

He leaned into the embrace, and for a moment, his usual biting sarcasm slipped away like shed skin.

“You shouldn’t do this,” he whispered. “Not to me. I’m... I’m dangerous to believe in.”

You pulled him closer, the warmth of your feathers pressing to his back, your voice gentle against the shell of his ear. “And I’m stubborn when it comes to lost causes.”

He let out a shaky chuckle, burying his face in your feathers now, as if they could shield him from the ghosts of failed experiments and dying stars. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

“I’m your idiot,” you replied.

He turned in your arms, his hand brushing along your wing with the tenderness of someone who’d known too much loss. “Then don’t fly away.”

You smiled, touching his eyepatch gently. “Only if you promise not to burn alone.”

In the glow of flickering candles and the rustle of feathers, Anaxagoras—the Great Heretic, the Mad Scholar, the Foolish—let himself believe. Just for a moment. Just for you.

Then, without warning, you feel it—fingertips grazing the edge of your wing. A soft touch. Your whole body tenses involuntarily, a jolt running down your spine as your feathers twitch instinctively under the sensation.

You turn to Sky, who sits too close, his blue eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. His fingers, feather-light and deliberate, continue tracing along the edge of your wing. The touch is soft, curious, but it sends a jolt straight to your heart, making it hammer in your chest.

“Wow,” he murmurs, his voice filled with quiet admiration. “Your wings are so soft.”

Your face heats instantly. Even after all this time, after everything, his affection still catches you off guard. “S-Sky—!” you stammer, shifting in place. You try to pull your wing away, but he follows easily, as if anticipating the movement.

His lips quirk into a mischievous grin. “What?” he says, tilting his head at you. “I’m just admiring them.”

His fingers continue their gentle exploration, teasing over the delicate feathers with deliberate slowness. You can’t help the way your wings tremble under his touch, reacting before you can stop them. It’s ridiculous how easily he does this to you, how effortlessly he turns you into a flustered mess with just the slightest bit of affection.

“You don’t have to do it so—so openly,” you mumble, sneaking a glance at the others.

Big mistake.

Warriors is smirking like he’s thoroughly entertained, Twilight is trying (and failing) to hide his chuckle behind a hand, and Legend merely rolls his eyes, tossing a twig into the fire. “You two are disgustingly lovey-dovey,” the vet grumbles, though there’s no real bite behind his words.

Sky, utterly unfazed, only seems more pleased with himself. “What?” he says innocently, though his grin betrays him. “I can’t show affection to my love?”

The word ‘love’ makes your heart skip a beat.

You jolt, a surprised noise escaping before you can catch it. It’s soft, barely more than a squeak, but it’s enough.

Sky’s grin widens.

Your face burns hotter than the campfire.

Hylia, please, just strike you down now.

The others chuckle at your reaction, but Sky only laughs softly, his hand never once leaving your wings. He shifts closer, his warmth pressing against your side, and before you can protest, he rests his head against your wing with a content sigh.

“I love your wings,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, sincerity woven into every word. “They suit you.”

Your breath catches.

Sky doesn’t press for a response. Instead, he simply nestles closer, his weight warm you. His presence alone is grounding, and slowly, the embarrassment fades into something else.

The others gradually lose interest, returning to their own conversations, but Sky stays close, perfectly at ease with you. His hand, now resting lightly on your wing, resumes its slow, absentminded stroking—not to tease, not to fluster you, but simply because he likes touching you.

“You’re cute when you’re shy,” he hums, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

You let out a quiet whimper of embarrassment, your wings fluttering slightly in response. Sky chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, and presses a light kiss against your shoulder before settling in again.

You sigh in defeat, knowing you’ve lost this battle.

The first thing you notice as you wake up is warmth.

Not the weak, fading heat of the campfire embers, nor the crisp morning air nipping at your skin, but something solid, something familiar. A gentle weight draped over your waist. The slow, even rhythm of soft breaths tickling your collarbone.

Sky.

Your eyes blink open groggily, adjusting to the glow of early dawn filtering through the trees. The forest is quiet, wrapped in a stillness that only exists in the moments before the rest of the camp wake’s up. The fire has died down, barely casting any heat now, but it doesn’t matter.

Not when Sky is tangled against you, his entire body draped over yours like he belongs there.

Somehow, during the night, he had managed to shift closer—no, closer wasn’t even the right word. He had completely wrapped himself around you, his arms looped around your waist, one of his legs hooked over yours, his face buried against the crook of your neck. His breath, slow and steady, fans against your skin with each exhale, and his fingers rest loosely against your side, twitching slightly as he dreams.

And your wings—at some point, you must have instinctively unfurled them, because they are now curled protectively around him, shielding him from the cool morning air like a cocoon. 

You should move.

You really should.

But the thought barely registers, drowned out by the sheer warmth of him, the peaceful way he clings to you as if letting go wasn’t an option.

A soft sigh escapes you as you relax again, sinking back into the moment. Carefully, you shift your wings, pulling them a little closer around him, and Sky hums in response—a quiet, sleepy sound of contentment. His hold on you tightens ever so slightly, and then, still deep in sleep, he nestles impossibly closer, tucking his face further against your shoulder.

Your heart squeezes painfully at how unfairly soft he is like this.

Sky, the same man who teases you relentlessly, who makes you flustered just for fun, who grins like the sun itself, is now completely vulnerable in your arms, trusting and warm and so painfully at ease.

You lift a hand, hesitating for a moment before carefully threading your fingers through his messy hair, smoothing it down. The strands are soft beneath your touch, and Sky lets out another sigh, pressing further into your hand.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped up in each other while the rest of the world remains still. Long enough for the sun to rise a little higher, long enough for the distant sound of birds waking to filter through the trees.

Then, unfortunately, the peace is shattered.

A loud yawn from across the camp. The sound of someone stretching. And then—

“Oh, for the love of Hylia, are you two seriously still wrapped up in each other?”

You don’t even need to look to know it’s Legend.

A groan vibrates against your skin as Sky shifts, grumbling incoherently before tightening his grip around you. “Too early,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.

“You’re literally using them as a blanket,” Warriors adds, his voice far too amused for this hour.

Another dramatic groan from Sky, this time accompanied by him burying his face further against your neck. “Go ‘way,” he mumbles, clearly unwilling to move.

You sigh, knowing full well that you’re about to be subjected to endless teasing, but… you don’t move either.

Instead, you shift your wings just a little tighter around Sky, ignoring the way Warriors and Legend start muttering about how disgustingly affectionate you both are.

Because, really, if Sky wants to stay tangled against you a little longer, who are you to say no?

PSPSPPS u get this because I got my first parcial back and i passed with 92 Anyways, missed me? also the first chapter for Whisper's of the Forgotten will be out in the week, I honestly forgot I was writting the fic OK NOW BYEEEEE (ask's and request's open yesiiir)